"'Twill be rare news for the Lord Clermistonlee," replied Walter, in a fierce whisper. "But look, gentlemen!--behold! In Heaven's name, are these friends or foes?" As he spoke, a troop of horse, clad in brilliant armour, with their white plumes waving in the evening wind, and their long uplifted rapiers flashing in the setting sun, and all gallantly mounted on matchless black horses, filed forth from the coppice, and drew up like magic on the roadway, about a hundred yards in advance of the Swart Ruyters, who instantly reined-up. One cavalier, splendidly accoutred, rode to the front, wheeled round his snorting horse that pawed the air, and issued his orders with stern rapidity-- "Gentlemen of the Scottish Guard, prepare to charge! Uncase the standards! Sound trumpets!" The banneroles were unfurled, the trumpets sounded, the kettle-drums ruffled, and each brave cavalier pressed forward in the saddle, as if impatient for the order to rush to the charge. "Ach tuyfel!" shouted De Ginckel through his trumpet; "Scots' Horse--der tuyfel! Sabre de brisoners--cut dem into de towsand becies! Fall on, you Schelms!" But there was no time. "'Tis Claverhouse, and the remains of his regiment. I would know his black steed among a thousand horse!" exclaimed the Earl. "Now God be with thee, thou gallant Grahame, for at last our hour of vengeance is come! Oh for a sword! How gallantly they formed line! Now, now! forward, my Scottish hearts!" The dark eyes of the proud Douglas gleamed with fire, as the deep and distinct order, "Cavaliers of the Life Guard--forward! _charge!_" burst from the lips of Dundee; and with the force of a whirlwind, the sixty Scottish Guardsmen, bridle to bridle and boot to boot, rushed with their uplifted swords to the onset. "Unsling carbines--blow matches--fire!--tousand tuyfels!--no!--traw sworts!" bellowed De Ginckel through his trumpet, as the front rank of his Ruyters recoiled in confusion on the rear. "Gentlemen, prepare to save yourselves!" exclaimed the Earl of Dunbarton, as the Dutch troopers cast off the cords that bound the prisoners to their waist-belts. "Heaven save us!" ejaculated Dr. Joram; "'tis a perilous case this, truly!" "To the rescue, Claverhouse! A Grahame! A Grahame! God for Scotland and James VII.! To the devil with the Stadtholder! hurrah!" cried the Life Guards. It was a critical moment for the dismounted prisoners, who were hemmed in among the hostile horsemen, and each felt his heart beat like lightning, and his breath come thick and fast, for death or deliverance were at hand.